Glove Buddies
by Miss Maia
Summary: "Katniss, they're children. They will get hurt. Scrape their knees, break their fingers, hit their heads … We can't protect them forever." Katniss has a hard time seeing her children growing up. Everdeen-Mellark Family Christmas! Humor because we all need to laugh on this holiday. Rated T. Written for Prompts in Panem, Holidays in Panem – Special Challenges.


**Author's Note: **This had a great response in Prompts in Panem. I hope you guys like it too!

**Summary: **_"Katniss, they're children. They will get hurt. Scrape their knees, break their fingers, hit their heads … We can't protect them forever." Katniss has a hard time seeing her children growing up._ Everdeen-Mellark Family Christmas! Humor because we all need to laugh on this holiday. Rated T. Written for Prompts in Panem, Holidays in Panem – Special Challenges.

**Warning:** Language.

* * *

**Glove Buddies**

Katniss braided her daughter's hair, using an orange ribbon to tie the dark, slim braid. Willow loved the color.

"Are we going to the candy store?" Willow asked while Katniss finished taming the dark curls. It always amazed her how much Willow's hair was exactly like hers.

"Yes, we are, but we're going to buy the decorations for the dinner table first."

Willow got up from the sofa and looked at her mother, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can I have peppermints before dinner?"

Katniss scowled halfheartedly, brushing Willow's olive cheeks. "Just don't tell your father. And you'll have to eat all the turkey he's preparing!"

Willow was already squealing in delight and rushing for the door before Katniss could say anything else. Smiling, Katniss got her purse from the coffee table and followed her daughter. At eight-year-old, Willow was a bright example of a full-energized kid—which could be very tiring sometimes. Katniss and Peeta always had a handful with their eldest child. Rye, the quietest Mellark, was thankfully the opposite of his big sister. Katniss didn't even consider bringing him along for the final Christmas shopping. She knew he'd prefer to stay home and watch his father bake.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours." Katniss entered the kitchen to kiss Peeta's flour-stained cheek. "I'm taking Willow, okay?"

Peeta, fully concentrated on the dough he was preparing, barely looked up from his work. "What about Rye? I'm cooking here."

"I'll call Haymitch to help you out," she said while reaching her son's colorful table at the far corner of the kitchen. Rye liked to stay there at his plastic table, drawing and playing with clay while Peeta baked. "I'll be back soon, sweetie." He looked up to offer her his crooked smile, a perfect copy of his father's.

"Look what I'm drawing!" he said excitedly, proudly showing his drawing. Katniss praised him and adjusted his sweater, kissing her son one last time.

Katniss could never leave the house without saying good-bye to her children, always promising a safe return. Something she learned the hard way.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked Peeta while heading for the living room.

"We're fine here." Peeta's voice was muffled by a spoonful of shapeless dough, and he grimaced. "More mixing here …"

"Mommy!" Willow's impatience voice resounded from the living room, and Katniss chuckled lightly.

"Haymitch will be here soon." She finally exited the kitchen, finding her daughter bundled up in her red coat, green gloves and pink scarf—an obvious indication that she had dressed herself up—standing by the door.

"Let's go!" Willow said with a scowl too much like Katniss'.

"Alright, alright!"

Katniss grabbed her coat and opened the door, District Twelve's winter welcoming her with its cold breeze. She held her daughter's hand before she could race ahead, and turned in the direction of Haymitch's house.

Katniss wanted tonight's Christmas dinner to be unforgettable.

Well, it would be.

* * *

"Hey, Peeta." Haymitch's hoarse voice startled Peeta from his task of adding raisins to his dough.

"What?" He looked up from his work, just Haymitch's head appearing at the kitchen's door. His gray hair matched his grey beard.

"Where can I find some clean cloth?"

"Top drawer on the left." His sight was back at his task in hand, Haymitch entering the kitchen and finding the cloth.

"And what about some bandages?" Haymitch asked absentmindedly, not really looking at Peeta.

"There's a first-aid kit in the storage." Peeta was still focused on measuring the raisins.

"Okay. Thanks." Haymitch nodded and exited the kitchen, soberly quiet.

It took Peeta an entire minute to comprehend what had probably happened.

"Wait," he said to himself, forgetting the dough in front of him.

Haymitch was taking care of Rye.

Haymitch entered the kitchen to ask for bandages.

Haymitch wasn't hurt.

Haymitch is… well, Haymitch.

"Haymitch!" Peeta shouted while running to the living room, flour and sugar all spread over his apron.

Sure enough, Rye was sitting on the floor, sniffing quietly. He cradled his tiny hand in his lap, and Haymitch was coaxing him to show the wound.

Peeta's eyes widened in panic. "What happened?"

"Nothing! The kid is fine," Haymitch grumbled as he started to clean Rye's cut.

"Rye, let me see this." Peeta kneeled next to his son, who pulled his hand away.

Rye was shy, and he hated to show weakness, even at an early age. He always tried to hide whenever he got hurt while playing.

"Daddy will make it better, son. I promise."

Sniffing and angrily pouting, Rye extended his little arms.

Peeta groaned seeing the small cut on his son's finger. At least it didn't need any stiches, though there was quite a bit of blood.

"How the hell did this happen?" Peeta grunted at Haymitch, placing his son in his lap to fix the bandage on his middle finger.

"Daddy said a bad word," Rye said quietly, ending the sentence with another sniff, his grey eyes red from anger and pain.

"Yes, and Daddy is sorry. Don't tell your mother."

Peeta kissed Rye's cheek and the boy smiled for the first time after the incident.

"Kids get hurt, Peeta. It happens," Haymitch said from behind them, a sheepish smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Haymitch. I couldn't make the—"

"That's alright, kid!" Haymitch interrupted Rye's little voice with too much eagerness and Peeta stopped wrapping his son's finger to look at Haymitch.

"He couldn't what?" Peeta asked Haymitch, looking back at him.

Innocently, Rye answered for him. "Uncle Haymitch was teaching me how to carve a wooden horse!" The pain was apparently forgotten as Rye smiled proudly at Peeta.

Peeta managed the best fake smile he could, and looked again at Haymitch.

"Really? With a _knife_?" Peeta hissed the last word, his eyes murderous towards Haymitch.

"Of course, Daddy! That's how you carve wood!" Rye said matter-of-factly, clearly missing the silent dialogue between his father and his uncle.

"Rye, can you get your gloves in your room with just one hand?" Peeta asked his son, his fake smile in place.

"Sure!" The boy smiled and got up, running for the stairs.

"Don't run in the house!" Peeta shouted, but all her could see was a blond head jumping up the stairs.

He waited for Rye to close his door upstairs to look at Haymitch.

"Really!" he hissed, seething inside. "A fucking _knife_ in the hand of a four-year-old!" Peeta punched Haymitch's shoulder.

"Ouch! That was unnecessary!" The old mentor replied. "I was carving wooden toys before his age!"

That just infuriated Peeta even more and he was about to yell at him when another thought crossed his mind. Haymitch even stopped complaining about his shoulder when he saw the look of panic in Peeta's face.

"Katniss can't know about this," Peeta said quietly, looking around him to make sure they were alone. "Not on Christmas Eve. You need to help me here, Haymitch. This is your fault."

"My fault? She left you in charge for the boy."

"You know Katniss. She'll kill us both if she finds out." Peeta gulped, an old memory crossing his mind.

When Willow was three, he had taken her to the small park in the town center. Willow being the endless bundle of energy she always had been, she tried to jump on the swing without waiting for Peeta to help her. She ended up with a small cut over her eyebrow, a scar she still had. Peeta helped her right away, but was relieved to see that it hadn't been a deep cut. Willow was laughing and asking for a piggyback ride by the time they were home. Katniss seemed preoccupied with the wound, strangely quiet as she helped her daughter to take a bath and put her to sleep.

Then it happened.

Katniss had released her mother-wrath on Peeta, which led to him sleeping in the couch. She had called Peeta an irresponsible parent, yelling at him as loud as she dared without waking her sleeping—and wounded—daughter. Katniss could be a very, very terrifying mother when she wanted to be.

Rye's cut would likely bring her right back to the same place.

Haymitch seemed to understand Peeta's fear. In her forties, Katniss still could shoot an arrow right in the eye of a squirrel.

Or of a man. Like him.

"Holly shit, boy!" Haymitch heaved a sigh. "What are we going to do?"

"We'll talk to Rye. We're not letting this ruin the dinner and—" Peeta and Haymitch froze at the giggling outside the front door.

Willow's voice.

"Daddy!" The front door flung open and revealed the smiling little Mellark, rushing over to hug her father's knees.

Katniss entered the room right after her daughter, her cheeks flushed under her scarf.

"The town is a mess." Katniss closed the door behind her, blocking the winter breeze. "I guess we're not the only ones who forgot something for dinner tonight." She placed various bags on the living room floor and started to head for the kitchen.

Peeta's hand was on Willow's head, but he wasn't paying attention to a word of the girl's rambling. Instead, he was watching Katniss with wary eyes.

"What's going on?" Katniss asked, taking off her gloves and coat.

"I, I…" For someone so good with words, Peeta was lost.

With a discreet poke to Peeta's ribs, Haymitch stepped ahead.

"We were just discussing dinner tonight. Peeta is finishing the food, but we're thinking about some music. Are you up for it, sweetheart?" Haymitch's lie flowed easily, and so did his smirk.

Katniss squinted her eyes, her hunter's senses catching up on something. But Rye's hurried steps on the stairs didn't let her think too much about what could be wrong in that.

"I couldn't find the right one, dad." Rye's frustrated face turn into a huge smile when he saw his mother and sister. "Mommy!" He made the same movement his sister had done with Peeta, running to hug Katniss' legs.

"Why are you wearing a red and a green glove?" Katniss asked her son, kneeling to meet his eyes.

"Daddy said that—"

"Red and green!" Peeta finally broke the spell from his fear, grabbing Rye from the floor and placing him against his hip. "Christmas' colors!"

"I want a red and green glove too!" Willow pleaded, showing the typical Everdeen scowl.

"Everyone will have gloves!" Grunting, Haymitch crouched to half-whisper in Willow's ear. "Why don't you show Uncle Haymitch where your gloves are so we can both grab a pair?"

"I'll be in the kitchen with Rye," Peeta said hurriedly, carrying his son to the kitchen—and away from Katniss.

"I can stay with him while you work," Katniss offered while she searched for something in one of the bags. When she looked back at Peeta, he was already in the kitchen.

She was about to follow him when Willow tugged at her arm. "Help me find gloves for me and Uncle Haymitch."

"Sure, sweetie." She caressed Willow's head, smiling down at her.

Katniss gave one last look at the kitchen door before following her daughter upstairs.

* * *

"Look at that!" Haymitch smiled broadly when Peeta brought the steaming turkey from the kitchen. The old mentor's voice slurred by alcohol, even though Katniss had asked him to slow down on the holiday. His handmade, red and white sweater compensated for his lack of Christmassy manners.

The table was set with the red, green and silver decorations Katniss and Willow had bought that morning, and with the golden brown turkey on top, it was a picture-perfect Christmas dinner.

"Did you kill the bird, mom?" Willow asked as Katniss got up to clear more space on the table for the giant turkey—they would need to give half of that to some other family.

"No, dear. This one was a gift from Rory. Do you remember Rory, who works in town?" Katniss started to slice the turkey, its smell filling the air with sage and other herbs.

Willow nodded her head, though her eyes were fixed in the knife's movements. "Can I do that?" she asked, pointed to the shining knife.

"No, sweetie. You're too young to use this," Katniss answered soberly, emphasizing her point with a short cut of the kitchen knife.

Haymitch couldn't help but choke on his wine.

"I'm wearing gloves just like daddy!" Rye, who had followed Peeta in the kitchen to get the turkey, reappeared still wearing his red and green gloves. Peeta wore his oven mitt and smiled down at his son.

"We're the glove buddies." He messed his son's light curls with his Christmas colored mittens.

"Take off your gloves to eat, honey." Katniss glanced at Rye, pointing the fork at his hands.

Rye looked up at her with big, rounded eyes and then back at Peeta.

"It's okay," Peeta intervened, pushing his chair next to Rye's. "I'll help him with the food. He can keep the gloves."

"He's going to get them dirty," Katniss insisted, passing the fork and knife to Haymitch. "Take off your gloves, Rye."

"He doesn't want to take them off," Peeta said in a half-laugh, though it was obviously forced.

Katniss opened her mouth to protest but decided better not to; whatever was going on with the gloves could wait for dinner.

"Alright, but you're washing them," Katniss surrendered, turning to serve her daughter's plate with raisin bread.

"I need to pee pee." Rye never reacted well with too much attention, and just the small interaction about the gloves left him a little bit nervous.

"He's going to need to take off his gloves for _that_," Haymitch said jokingly, and Willow giggled. Peeta got up from his chair, and still wearing his oven mitts, helped his son to get up too.

"Not necessarily," Peeta said, winking at Rye and offering a small smile to Katniss. "C'mon now, glove buddy."

Katniss was puzzled, but she softened at the huge smile plastered on Rye's face. Haymitch's lips crooked in a grin and Willow was too busy dealing with the colorful food on her plate to notice anything.

Peeta and Rye disappeared down the hall, where the bathroom was. The dinner conversation resumed with Willow telling Haymitch how her trip to the town had been. Her blue and green sweater, another handmade piece by Katniss—who was almost mastering the art of knitting after twenty years of practice—made her blue eyes shine under the dining room light. These were the moments Katniss questioned why it had taken her so long to have children.

Katniss was absorbed in her daughter's tale when a mirthful squeal echoed from the living room—clearly Rye's childish laugh. Peeta's not so discreet shush and his own deep laugh followed.

"What is going on there?" Katniss asked to no one in particular, pushing her chair away from their mahogany table. As she approached the bathroom, the laughs continued.

"It tickles!" Rye exclaimed from inside ajar door.

"I know, but it's funny, isn't it?" Peeta answered his son, looking up at his wife when she opened the door, clearing her throat.

Rye was on the colorful plastic step they had in each bathroom in the house since he had started using the toilet "like a man". His back was to Katniss, and his pants puddled around his ankles, giving Katniss a clear view of his tiny, white bottom. Peeta, who was facing Katniss and at the opposite side of the toilet, also had his zipper down and offered her a full view of his manhood. They were peeing, and Katniss just knew she'd have to clean up after them—Rye was still struggling with his aim, and Peeta was never that good at shooting … anything.

But what really made Katniss roll her eyes wasn't the idea of cleaning up the bathroom.

Both Rye and Peeta were wearing gloves.

"I'm sorry. We're having a man's moment here," Peeta said in mocking seriousness, and Rye giggled.

"Please tell me you're not holding your penis with an oven mitt," Katniss deadpanned, her scowl taking place.

Peeta looked down self-consciously, answering calmly. "Sorry. I can't do that. It'd be a lie."

"And lying is wrong," Rye completed for him, shaking himself.

"Remember son: three shakes, no more," Peeta said before performing his own advice.

"Peeta," Katniss insisted. "We cook with this glove!"

"Honey—" he zipped up his pants, a comical scene with the Christmas gloves. "You, above anyone else, can't be disgusted by my …" He knelt to help Rye adjust his pants. "by 'little Peeta.'"

"You're definitely washing them." Katniss' lips were a thin line, but her eyes sparkled a deep grey that hinted at more. Peeta's eyebrows shot up in a silence question, but all his playfulness verged to panic at Katniss' next words.

"And now let's wash your hands." She caressed Rye's messy hair, threading her finger through his locks—he'd need a haircut soon.

"'Man moment', woman," Peeta repeated, pulling Rye up against his chest, the boy easily finding his favorite spot to rest his head on his father's shoulder.

"I didn't—" But whatever Katniss was going to say was interrupted by Willow's sharp scream and Haymitch's guffaw. The sound of broken glass followed their laughter and Katniss heaved a sigh. She walked back to the dining room, gloves and penis forgotten.

"Daddy?" Rye asked quietly as Peeta removed his gloves to wash the boy's hands. "Why can't mommy know about my boo boo?"

Peeta swallowed dryly. "Mommy will get mad if she finds out, Rye. I'll tell her after dinner."

"Is she mad at me?" The pleading eyes he offered Peeta made his heart ache—damned puppy eyes.

"No, Rye, no. You didn't do anything wrong." He helped his son to dry his hand, being careful not to touch the wounded finger.

"But I didn't finish the horse …" He sounded so guilty that Peeta wanted to see Haymitch get run over by a real horse—it was his fault, after all.

"Uncle Haymitch will finish one for you." Rye's eyes brightened at that, the sadness leaving his features.

"Can it be a blue horse?" he asked excitedly.

"Blue, pink, orange … you can choose." Peeta kissed his son's nose before putting him back on the floor and washing their hands. They headed back to the dining room talking about colorful horses.

They found a frustrated Katniss arguing half-heartily with a grimacing Willow.

"I don't want another one!" Willow insisted, pushing her plate away.

"Honey, you promised me you'd eat the turkey your father baked. You just nibbled it, and—"

"I'm not hungry anymore!" she said more profusely, sticking her tongue out at her plate.

"But I baked it just for us." Peeta joined the conversation, making sure Rye had sat on his chair and was attacking—gloved hand and all—his raisin bread. Haymitch, wanting any excuse to ignore Katniss' eye contact, decided to join the boy and grab a loaf to himself.

"We made a deal, Willow," Katniss said in her motherly tone, still trying to logically argue with the eight-year-old.

Willow blushed at that, remembering the deal she had made with her mother.

"What kind of deal?" Peeta, filling his own plate with turkey and rice, asked absentmindedly.

Knowing she was defeated, Katniss decided to tell the truth. "We went to the candy store today, but she promised she'd eat."

"I want candy!" Rye interfered, mouth full of half-chewed bread.

"Wait, you gave her candy before dinner?" Peeta's questioned, his brow furrowed.

"It was just a little bit …" Katniss grumbled defensively, blushing the same color as Willow's flushed cheeks.

"You know our deal about that," Peeta scowled softly, not wanting to ruin the Christmas mood. "And you, young lady," he turned for Willow, "you will eat your turkey or no dessert."

"I want dessert!" Rye, now a mess of raisin bread and turkey—provided by Uncle Haymitch—declared in a cheerful voice, his gloves, as predicted, a chaos of grime and food.

The rest of the dinner was mercifully cheerful, ending with Peeta promising a great dessert. Rye, always the helper, followed his dad to the kitchen. Mostly the boy hoped to get a bite before the chocolate deliciousness made it to the table.

"Can I have one before everyone else?" Rye asked hopefully when Peeta opened the fridge.

"Hmm … that is just for good boys. Are you a good boy?" He arched one eyebrow at his son, who laughed at Peeta's funny expression.

The kitchen door opened and Katniss entered carrying some of the dishes. "To make room," she explained, placing the dirty dishes in the sink.

"Can you get some more cider, Peeta? Haymitch is complaining," she said casually, already heading back to the dinner room. Peeta nodded and closed the fridge, going to search some of the apple refreshment in the storeroom.

"C'mon, Rye." She offered her hand to her son, who innocently reached for her palm.

He couldn't hold back the sharp gasp when her strong hands closed around his injured finger.

"What …?" Katniss looked at him questioningly, but Rye's eyes were fixed on the floor. "Rye?" she asked again, as the boy retracted his hand and cradled it carefully.

"I just found one more and …" Peeta's speech died in his throat when he saw Katniss kneeling in front of Rye, coaxing him to take off his glove. When she looked up and locked those fierce grey eyes on him, Peeta knew the mother-wrath had been released.

"Let mommy see it, okay?" Begrudgingly, Rye let Katniss take off his glove and check out the bandage.

"Don't you even try to move," she said calmly, sensing Peeta sneaking out behind her.

Damn her hunter skills.

Peeta was sure he didn't imagine her sharp intake of breath when she saw the small cut, wrapping it carefully once more. "You go and finish your dinner. Mommy will be right there." Rye nodded and at his mother's soft tone and didn't let his tears fall.

Her back was to Peeta, and she waited for Rye to close the kitchen door before standing up. When she finally faced him, Peeta gulped and his grip on the cider bottle tightened.

"How the fuck did that happen?" she asked as loudly as she dared, fire burning in her eyes and flushed skin. "You were trying to hide our son's injury from me? Peeta!" She faltered a little, blinking rapidly against tears.

"It was an accident," Peeta finally said, his heart racing. He glanced at the door to be sure it was shut. "He was never supposed to be with the knife—"

"_Knife?_" Katniss almost lost it in her tone of voice. "He's four years old! What the hell were you thinking!"

"Katniss—" When he tried to reach for her shoulders, she slapped his hand away.

Okay, no touching yet.

"I can't believe you actually gave a knife to Rye—"

"It wasn't me!" Peeta said defensively, and Katniss' eyes landed on the door.

"That old bastard! I'm cutting his balls off—"

"Katniss!" Peeta didn't try to touch her, but instead held his hand up in surrender. "Listen to yourself! That's why we were going to tell you after dinner. It's Christmas, and you're cursing half the family!"

She seemed to be taken aback by that, but another thought crossed her mind.

"And you were upset about Willow's candy? Perfect. You're an asshole." She turned to face away from him, covering her fear with anger. "You're lucky it wasn't a deep cut. Otherwise …"

"Otherwise what?" Peeta placed the bottle on the counter and rested one hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but didn't fight back. "Katniss, they're children. They will get hurt. Scrape their knees, break their fingers, hit their heads … "

She visually deflated at that, shuddering as she tried to hold back her tears. Peeta placed his hand on her other shoulder, pushing her slightly to him. He knew it wasn't just about a cut on Rye's finger or Willow's scar. It was much deeper than that, and he understood Katniss' fears. He only hoped she would actually open up to him instead of releasing the apocalypse about it.

"We can't protect them forever," he continued, relieved when she rested her back against his chest. "If I could, I'd place them in a glass case until Rye is 18. And Willow is 30." Katniss chuckled, poking him lightly with her elbow. "They will get hurt, Katniss. Not the way we were, but they will face heartbreaks, betrayals, lies … that's part of being a human being. Hunger Games existing or not."

"I just …" She took a deep breath, turning around to face him. "Don't you ever do that again. Don't ever try to hide something about our children from me." For a moment, her eyes shone with intensity again. He held her gaze firmly.

"I promise."

She nodded, reaching to kiss his cheek.

"And you promise the same, right?" He grinned down at her, but frowned at her blush. "What?"

Katniss cleared her throat. "You guys have 'man moments' and we have girl moments …"

"Girl what?" He tightened his grip around Katniss' waist. "What's going on?"

Katniss rolled her eyes, her blush still sweetly coloring her olive cheeks. "Willow has a crush on some boy at school."

It was Peeta's time to experience father-wrath.

"What! She's eight!"

"Yeah, well … you were five when you fell for me." She reached up to caress his face, but he couldn't stop frowning.

"No! That's different …" His tensed temple finally submitted under Katniss' touch.

"We can't protect them forever, right?"

"Maybe …" Peeta made sure to look down at Katniss, his smile back in place as he quipped. "Maybe Rye should learn how to use a knife."

"Shut up …" She smacked him playfully on his chest. He laughed quietly and bent down to capture her lips.

They heard their children's laugh and Haymitch's loud groan from the dinner room.

"I hope they're giving him hell," Katniss confessed.

"Merry Christmas to you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Special thanks to the betareaders: honeylime and plumgal1899.


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